Encounter Series PC
by LisaT
Summary: Retelling of 'Encounter at Farpoint' from Beverly Crusher's perspective. Please note: I have changed the order of a couple of scenes. Maybe it's just me, but I think this way makes more sense! Please R&R. This was my first completed Star Trek fanfic. Ta
1. Chapter 1

ENCOUNTER AT FARPOINT:

PRE- ENCOUNTER

The Enterprise is late, and I'm a bundle of nerves.

Wesley, on the other hand, is euphoric, but I expected that. This is a dream come true for him.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. It was so carefully planned. I would leave my post at Medical on Earth, transfer to Deep Space Five and from there to Farpoint Station where Wesley, myself, and various other crew members would rendez-vous with the new flagship. Once on board, I could get stuck in to my work as Chief Medical Officer. No time to think, to worry, to doubt.

Now my careful plans have fallen apart, and my doubts are getting the better of me. My new CO is Jean-Luc Picard. I knew that when I requested the position of CMO on his ship, but I deliberately gave myself no time to ruminate further on that fact. Basically, I was tired of Earth, tired of teaching, tired of the comparatively mundane life I led as one of many doctors working at Starfleet Medical HQ. That wasn't why I became a doctor, and it certainly wasn't why I joined Starfleet- only, until now, I had no choice.

Families are not permitted on board most starships; the new Galaxy line, of which the Enterprise is the finest example, is an exception, and I jumped at the chance of being in space again- and giving my son an opportunity to experience the life that had filled his dreams since he was old enough to dream. It was sheer bad luck that the new ship's captain happened to be Jean-Luc Picard.

Once, we'd been friends- good friends. My late husband served under him during our engagement, and Picard attended our wedding. In the months and years that followed the three of us became close, spending time together whenever the opportunity arose. We made a good team- my impetuosity, Jack's humour, Jean-Luc's intelligence and moral ballast.

Then everything changed. In a tragic, futile accident, Jack was killed on an Away Mission. Jean-Luc ignored orders to the contrary and recovered his body, and brought my dead husband back to me- to us. He accompanied me to the morgue to make the formal identification and to say good-bye- and left. To this day, I am not certain whether he was at the funeral. My head tells me that, surely, he was. My heart was so empty I neither noticed nor cared.

Jack's death devastated us all. I lost my husband, my lover, the man who had taught me how to laugh, to love, to belong. My son lost his father. And Jean-Luc? I'm not sure. Another mutual friend, Walker Keel, kept in touch with me, and with him. From time to time he told me about Jean-Luc's rapid professional rise- and his gradual withdrawal from friendship and laughter. He had, so Walker said, become the consummate Starfleet officer and captain, but he had forgotten how to have fun, how to smile.

That, I had thought, makes two of us. I, too, had withdrawn into the safety of my work and my career, permitting only a few people to get close. As long as I had Wesley, my work, and regular contact with grandmother at home on Caldos, I was satisfied. Only now I know it's no longer enough.

Am I mad to work with Jean-Luc Picard after everything that has been and gone?

Or is it the best decision I've made in years?

I'm not sure. I wish the ship would come.

In an attempt to keep my mind off my worries- and to occupy my son- we've decided to go shopping. I smile as Wesley wanders through the boulevards and streets of the old town so strangely dwarfed by the duraglass and tritanium buildings that form 'Farpoint Station' itself. They are strangely reminiscent of Starbases throughout the Alpha Quadrant, I know, even though Farpoint 'Station' is not, as yet, endorsed by Starfleet.

Wesley comes back to my side just as I hear a voice calling my name.

I turn and see a tall, clean-shaven man with blue eyes almost as bright as my own, and a wide smile.

My son beams back at him, I notice. "Mother, it's Commander Riker," he explains, turning towards me. His face is aglow, and I try not to smile. My son has a tendency to hero-worship Starfleet officers.

I realise that Commander Riker is talking warmly to my son. "..hello to you too, Wesley," he says, a grin spreading across his face. "Enjoying Farpoint Station?"

Wesley's answering beam makes him look positively incandescent, I think, but he only says, "Yes, sir," and stands a little straighter. I feel proud of him. He's a good boy.

I realise Riker's eyes have returned to me, and I feel nervous when I note that his gaze is appraising. In spite of his pleasantness to my son, I am unsure. Riker seems young and cocky and way too sure of himself…. And then I remember his rank and I know that he cannot be as young as he looks or as facile as he may seem. I restrain myself from touching my own three pips, signalling that I, too, hold the rank of 'Commander.'

Riker gives me another smile, a slow, deliberately charming one this time.

"Saw you and thought I'd join your stroll, if I may," he says casually.

I look at him. "Actually, we're about to do some shopping," I tell him politely, but distantly.

For a moment, the man looks taken aback, and I am amused. Evidently Riker is unaccustomed to that response from women, I think. However, he recovers quickly.

"I've been meaning to visit the mall myself," he says easily. He cocks a brow at me. "That is, if I'm welcome?"

I nod. "Of course."

I walk towards the mall, and Wesley trots alongside, his head bobbing from me to Commander Riker and back again. His anxiety is almost palpable. Even so, I'm not prepared for what he says next.

"If you're wondering about Mom, sir, she's isn't actually unfriendly. She's just shy around men she doesn't know."

I feel the colour rise in my cheeks and curse my fair, red-headed colouring. "Wesley!" I expostulate.

Commander Riker's mouth twitches and his brow lifts slightly, and I know from the hint of a twinkle in his eyes that he is amused. I can't blame him. It would amuse me too if I wasn't the- highly embarrassed- victim.

I exhale and look straight at him for the first time since Wesley introduced us. I even smile to show that I appreciate the humour of the situation. I know that so far Riker must think the Enterprise's new CMO is something of an icicle, and I'm suddenly anxious to dispel that notion. We could be working together for a long time to come.

I hold my hand out to him. "I believe that means my son wants us to be friends," I say.

Riker grins and takes my hand in a firm shake. "I'm willing." The grin disappears and I'm startled, realising that already I'm beginning to associate it with this man. I know he's to be First Officer, and I wonder at his joviality- and then remember everything I've heard of Jean-Luc in the past years. An approachable, cheerful First Officer could be invaluable. I then focus on what Riker is saying.

"Although we're not officially part of the Enterprise yet, I thought there might be something useful we can do while we wait."

I turn from the pile of fabrics I've been examining. "'Useful'?" I repeat. "How and what, Commander?"

Riker steps towards me, his eyes eager. "Investigating some things I've noticed here, Doctor. The last was a piece of fruit-"

I nod at him slightly to show him I'm listening, and then smile at the stallholder, showing him the bolt of fabric that caught my attention. "Would this be available in emerald green?" I ask.

The merchant smiles, nods, and vanishes, and I turn back to Riker, having secured a degree of privacy. I catch a flicker of exasperation in his face as I look at him closely. He's serious about this. I resist the temptation to shake my head. He can't really be that young, but his transparent desire to make a good first impression certainly makes him seem so, and I speak more gently than I had perhaps intended.

"I'm sure, Commander, that there are reasons for a First Officer to want to demonstrate his energy and alertness to a new captain, but since my duty and interests lie outside the command structure-"

My voice breaks mid-sentence as the merchant reappears, smiling broadly, and displays a bolt of fabric in the very shade I had requested. I only just prevent my jaw from dropping.

Riker grins slowly and turns to me. "Isn't it nice he happened to have the right colour?"

I glance at him quickly, and try to hide my own reaction. More flustered by the whole thing than I care to admit, I nod curtly at the merchant and place the order, feeling a thrill as for the first time I request that it be charged to 'Beverly Crusher, CMO, USS Enterprise". I complete the transaction and turn back to my companions, walking quickly away from the stall.

Riker, who is that rarity- a man who is considerably taller than I am- keeps pace easily, but Wesley has to almost run to keep up, and I force myself to slow down.

"Now, where were we?" Riker asks at that point, the glint still in his face and voice.

I dither between being offended at his obvious enjoyment of the whole situation- or relaxing and making the most of this man's good humour. I settle on the latter.

"I was accusing you of inventing work in order to curry favour with your new captain," I say lightly. "I apologise."

Wesley suddenly jerks to attention, and I realise that for the past few moments he has worn that abstracted expression that indicates his mind is actively trying to decipher some puzzle or other. His eyes are wide, and his words an apparent non sequitur.

"Finding the right colour took him only about twelve seconds, Mom!"

I look at him, then Riker, then back towards the stall. When I think about it, I realise that my son is correct. The merchant really had responded to my request with almost unnatural speed. I glance at Riker and remember his words about an apple.

"Maybe you're right," I mutter half to the Commander, half to myself. "Maybe this is something Jean-Luc Picard will want looked into."

The pleased smile spreading across Riker's face stops abruptly at my easy use of the Captain's first name, and I feel my face flushing again. I hope he will leave it. He doesn't, of course.

"Jean-Luc? You know Captain Picard?" He sounds rather stunned, I think.

I bite my lip, unsure of how to respond. We're friends? Not anymore. He was my husband's CO? True, but awkward. He brought my husband's body back to me? Also true, and the best way of making everyone, myself included, feel acutely uncomfortable. I sigh and try to think, vaguely aware that Wesley has pressed himself to my side in a gesture of support that touches me. Now that he's fifteen, these gestures are becoming increasingly rare.

Before I resolve my dilemma, my son does it for me, speaking quietly. "When I was little, he brought my father's body home to us."

The simple words, stating the truth without making a plea for sympathy or pity, bring tears to my eyes, and I caress the top of his smooth head. Normally, he would jerk away- now, he doesn't, as if knowing that I need the comfort.

Or, I think, perhaps he needs it. I speak softly- and to explain to Riker, who looks startled and embarrassed. "It was a long, long time ago, Wes."

My tone is for my son, but my eyes are fixed on the officer, and Riker nods. I think it means that he understands that we-I- do not want to talk about this- or our complicated relationship with and to the Captain.

His understanding makes me repent of my acerbic words and astringent thoughts. I smile at him, and he returns it, more slowly that I expect. I gesture ahead.

"Shall we continue to walk?" I suggest, looking up at him. I allow myself to grin at him- the grin that my grandmother and Jack always declared meant mischief. "I'd like to get to know you better, Mr Riker."

Commander Riker stares at me. Then he nods and we carry on.

I think I have made a friend. I know my son has.

My thoughts turn towards the ship again, but with less dread, less fear. Perhaps there will be more friends on the Enterprise.

Perhaps Wesley and I will find somewhere to belong. At last.


	2. Chapter 2

Re-Encounter

I take a deep breath and look about my new sickbay. A feeling of deep satisfaction courses through me: this is what cutting-edge medical technology is all about! And, unlike at Medical, it will be used for living, breathing patients as well as research. I find myself smiling as I walk towards the viewscreen that fills one wall. I may as well test the stuff. This is as good a time as any to check the medical records of my most important patient: Jean-Luc Picard.

"Computer, show me the results of Captain Picard's most recent physical examination."

As the information begins to flash up on the screen, I am surprised by the feeling of discomfort that creeps up on me- almost as if I'm invading the privacy of the man I once called friend. Logic assures me of the absurdity of this discomfort; I am the _Enterprise's_ Chief Medical Officer, and concerned with the welfare of the Captain above all. If he is not healthy, then all one thousand and fourteen men, women and children aboard this ship are in danger. I am simply doing my job.

I am so deep in the records that the unexpected voice makes me jump violently.

"Already at work, Doctor?"

I know the speaker before I turn. I could never forget, or mistake, that voice. I take a deep breath before looking at him for the first time in nearly ten years. Our eyes meet for a split second, and I know I need to break the silence that has fallen.

Deliberately, I keep my tone light. "Yes, I'm working on a subject that's very important to this mission, Captain."

As I instruct the computer to close the records, I am mildly amused by the expression on his face. He shifts uncomfortably in front of me, and a pang of pity goes through me. How long has it been, I wonder, since anyone dared to speak so informally to him? Amusement is followed by trepidation; have I presumed? I wait nervously for him to say something more.

Finally, he nods- a brief nod. "Welcome aboard, Doctor."

That's the second time he's used only my title, I think wistfully, remembering the man who, alone of all my friends, respected my desire to be known as 'Beverly' rather than the shorter 'Bev'. It's as if he doesn't want to be reminded of our prior acquaintance. He hasn't even said 'Dr Crusher'- just an impersonal 'Doctor.' Maybe he wants to forget who I am.

My fears return as I raise my eyes to his again. We exchange a long look. He looks older- he's lost even the little hair he had a decade ago. I'm actually glad to see that he hasn't followed the vain practise of many bald men, who try to grow what hair they have on back-and-sides and then brush it over the bald spot. He's gone bald with dignity, I tell myself flippantly- if only to settle the butterflies in my stomach.

What does he think of me, I wonder. Forty is not old, not these days, but the damned hairdresser messed up the hair dye. Instead of returning my hair to the glowing copper of my youth, it's now a red so dark it's virtually brunette. I hated the colour when I dyed it at age thirteen, and I hate it now. I wish I'd kept it at my now-natural red-gold. The darker shade bleaches my fair skin and adds years to my age. I wonder why I care.

He shifts again, and I realise I haven't replied to his welcome. Stiffly, I say, "Thank you, Captain."

There's another awkward pause, and then he says, "I thought I should talk to you personally about your assignment here." I can tell that he's trying to relax, be less formal, but it isn't working.

I nod at him, and he continues. "I want you to know that I protested against your being assigned to the Enterprise."

The confession leaves me mentally reeling and surprisingly hurt. I tell myself I'm being ridiculous. If the thought of serving with him worries me, it's only natural that the same should be true in reverse. Then again, maybe he wanted another doctor, and I welcome the thought. I'm more than confident in my professional abilities.

"You think me unqualified?" I ask, raising one eyebrow.

Picard looks acutely uncomfortable. In fact, with anyone else, I'd say he was blushing. He replies almost too quickly. "Hardly. Your service record shows you're just the CMO I want."

Professional fortification gone, I avert my gaze. "Then you must object to me personally." I'm relieved that my voice is even, no trace of hurt evident.

The hazel eyes I'd almost forgotten soften infinitesimally. "I'm trying to be considerate of your feelings, Dr Crusher," he says. How like him, I think. "For you to serve with a commanding officer who would continually remind you of such a personal tragedy-"

His words hit a little too close to home, too close to my own worries and reservations. "If I had any objections to serving with you, I wouldn't have requested this assignment," I snap.

His eyes flicker. "You requested this posting?" He stares at me for a moment, and then turns.

I can't believe that he's going to leave it at that. But then, I hadn't exactly made an effort either, I think. I force myself to speak to him again.

"Captain."

He pauses and turns to look at me again. His face is unreadable.

I swallow and continue, praying that voice holds steady. I do not want to break down in front of this man. "My feelings about my husband's death will have no effect on the way I serve you, this vessel, or this mission."

Another flicker in his eyes tells me that he heard, and understood, the slight emphasis I placed on the word 'you.' He nods, and then hesitantly extends his hand.

"In that case, welcome aboard, Doctor. I'm pleased to have you here." The genuine- if tentative- warmth in the last words makes me tremble inside. For the second time in several minutes, I fear the loss of my composure. I allow only the briefest, most perfunctory of handshakes.

Our eyes meet again, and suddenly I want to be alone. I make myself smile. "Thank you," I say. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to return to my duties."

He opens his mouth as if to say more, and closes it again, realising that the conversation has come to a close. He nods again- a curt, restrained but awkward movement that tells me there is more he would like to say- but won't. Once again, he turns and moves towards the doors to sickbay. Just before he can trip the sensors to open them, he looks back at me.

"Welcome aboard," he says again.

I say nothing and watch him as he goes.

Will we ever be comfortable with each other again?


	3. Chapter 3

It's several days later and I've not seen the Captain since his visit to sickbay. Not to speak to. Of course, I've been in senior crew meetings, but they're so professional and impersonal they hardly count. Well, if that's the way he wants to play it, it's fine by me. At least it'll give me time to adjust to being on the same ship without having to handle any other complications.

Work wise, everything's great. I'm still processing all the medical files for everyone on board; it's a time consuming task, but I do it myself instead of delegating. My staff is concentrating on the technical side of things for the moment, but I want to get to know something about the one thousand-odd patients I'm now responsible for.

Wesley comes in, and he's soaking wet- but I say nothing about it. There's a rare, wide smile on his face. My son has not had an easy childhood: between losing his father at the age of five, having a workaholic mother, and being something of a genius, he's always been a bit of a loner. I'm used to seeing him with a serious mien, and it warms me now just to see him happy. He's evidently enthusiastic about the recreational facilities on board the Enterprise.

"-and there's a low gravity gym too," he adds, using a hand to wipe the excess water off his face and hair. I'm tempted to tell him to go dry off first, but relent as he continues, too excited to worry about little details like dripping all over my brand new sickbay.

"It would be hard to get bored on this ship!" he concludes at last, with another wide beam at me. I'm glad of that. One of the difficulties of being a single parent to such a bright youngster has been keeping him occupied.

I smile at him and murmur something positive, and move across sickbay to the viewscreen again. Wesley tracks my movements, and I become aware of the quality of his sudden silence. He's still rubbing his hair, but it's an abstracted movement now. I wonder what he's thinking.

I'm not wondering long.

"Mom," he begins cautiously.

I repress a smile. It's glaringly obvious that he wants something, and it's equally obvious that he doesn't think he's going to get it. I raise an encouraging eyebrow at him.

"Could you get me a look at the Bridge?" he asks, his words tumbling over each other in his eagerness.

I glance at him. His face is alight with hope and interest. I remember seeing that look on Jack's face, and Jean-Luc's, so many years ago…

"That's against the Captain's standing orders, I'm afraid," I tell my son. The Captain. He's not 'Jean-Luc' any more. Not to me, at any rate.

Wesley's face falls. He watches me anxiously as I walk backwards and forwards again.

"Are you afraid of the Captain, too?" he asks suddenly.

I spin round to look at him. "I certainly am not!" I retort, perhaps too quickly. I'm not afraid. Perhaps a little intimidated, but not afraid.

Wesley looks at me, his dark eyes wide. Then he relaxes and sidles up to me. "Captain Picard is a pain, isn't he?" he says in a confidential tone.

I want to laugh. I wonder what the Captain would say, could he hear this irreverent assessment. All the same, I'm a senior officer. I have to maintain appearances. I look gravely at my son, and his face straightens as I begin my lecture.

"Your father liked him very much, Wesley." So did I, I add silently. "He's a great explorer. Great explorers are often lonely. No chance to have a family.." My voice trails off and I glance at my son quickly. I know he's bright enough to spot the flaw in my argument, and it's not a topic I want to pursue.

Thankfully, Wesley's mind is still on his idée fixe. There are advantages to having a genius for a child. He tends to have a one track brain.

"Just a look at the bridge, Mom," he implores. I'm rather flattered that he thinks I can achieve his desire. His eyes meet mine. "I can look from the turbolift when the doors open. I won't get off, Mom. I promise."

I look at him. "You're asking for trouble, Wes," I say warningly.

He says nothing more, but his pleading eyes are fixed on mine and I find it impossible to say no. Besides, the mischievous side of my nature appreciates the opportunity to rattle Captain Picard a little. Remind him of who we are. Wesley is Jack's son, too, and they were best friends….

I am unable to repress my smile this time. I know it's more of an amused quirk, but Wesley understands its meaning, even before I say, "All right. I'll see what I can do."

His face glows and for a moment I think he'll throw his arms around me. Only, we don't do things like that when we're fifteen, I think wryly as I put down my padd and lead the way out of sickbay and to the turbolift.

The journey to the Bridge is a quiet one. Wesley's silence is almost reverent, like that of a pilgrim en route to a holy shrine. I shake my head as the turbolift doors open. In spite of myself, I too am curious. I am, after all, qualified as a bridge officer, and this is my first look at the Bridge of the Federation's flagship.

Then my eyes meet those of the Captain, and I feel uncomfortable again. I take refuge in Starfleet etiquette.

"Permission to report to the Captain," I begin.

"Children are not permitted on the Bridge, Doctor," the Captain interrupts smoothly. His voice is cool and his eyes are almost hostile.

I remember an old joke of Jack's. It involved Jean-Luc, three kids, and a turbolift. I forget how it ended, but the inspiration for the joke was his friend's dislike of children of all ages. Evidently, that has not changed.

"My son is not on the Bridge, Captain," I say with a coolness to match his own. I will not be intimidated! "He merely accompanied me on the turbolift." That's a nicety, I know. At this time, my son should be anywhere but with me. However, my words appear to have jolted the Captain. For a moment, he looks like the Jean-Luc I remember.

"Your son?" he repeats, his eyes going to Wesley. Suddenly, he seems more human, more approachable, and I relax.

"Yes." I look down at my hands, clasped across my blue medical coat. To my knowledge, I'm the only doctor in Starfleet who chooses to wear it past graduation. It's useful- and comforting.

"His name's Wesley," I explain softly. "You last saw him years ago when-" Almost of their own volition, my eyes move to meet Jean-Luc's, and we hold a gaze of remembered pain.

"Oh." Jean-Luc swallows, and looks at Wesley. He shrugs slightly. "Well, as long as he's here.." Jean-Luc shrugs again, and I'm touched by his attempt to relax and sound friendly when he speaks again. "I knew your father, Wesley. Want to have a look around?"

Wesley is out so fast that I have to step away. Jean-Luc's eyes flicker from me to my son, and he continues nervously, sharply. "Don't touch anything!"

I hide a sudden grin. Bless the man, I think, he's terrified. I could tell him there's no need for his fear. Wesley knows as much as I do about Bridge operations. In fact, he more or less coached me through it for the Command exam two years ago.

I watch in renewed amusement as Picard points various things out to my son- and see his astonishment when his explanations are anticipated by Wesley, to the point where my son is able to finish what the Captain is trying to say. Finally, Picard stops trying to explain, and glares.

"How the hell do you know all this, boy?" he demands.

I stiffen at the 'boy'.

Wesley does not answer. He has no opportunity to do so, for the Captain's communication signal sounds. Wesley, being seated in the command chair, instinctively responds by translating the signal into audio. He then calls, "Perimeter alert, Captain!" as naturally as if he's been doing it for years. Pride swells within me, until I catch the look on the Captain's face.

Evidently Wesley has seen it too, for while I protest, he begins to apologise.

The Captain, however, has had enough. He divides a glare evenly between the two of us, much to my annoyance. "Off the Bridge, the pair of you!" he barks.

Wesley scuttles into the turbolift, assisted there by a gentle shove from me. The Klingon officer at Tactical informs the Captain, again, that he has a perimeter alert.

I cannot resist having the last word, etiquette or no.

"That's what my son tried to tell you!" I snap at the Captain. We exchange a final glare, and then the turbolift doors close between us.

Wesley is silent. I do not know whether to be distraught or elated. The Captain will not be able to ignore us so easily now, I think. I am not sure whether the feeling that courses through me at that thought is trepidation or excitement.

I do know that it will not be boring.


	4. Chapter 4

It's been a week since we wrapped everything up at Farpoint, and after that baptism of fire, the crew is starting to settle into something resembling a routine on this new Enterprise. As for me, I've finally finished reviewing and updating the crew's medical files, and I'm going off duty, well satisfied with my accomplishment.

As the turbolift doors open, I'm surprised to find myself face to face with the Captain. For second, I contemplate waiting until later. The chances of bumping into him twice running are rather remote. I'm sure the android, Data, would be perfectly willing to calculate the odds, but – I decide I'm being silly and step into the 'lift before the moment stretches and becomes even more awkward.

"Doctor," he says stiffly.

"Captain," I respond with equal stiffness.

We descend in silence. The Captain shifts, his discomfort obvious, and it takes considerable effort for me to avoid doing likewise. I wish the lift would hurry up- or stop at another deck and take on more travellers. To my surprise, he's the one who breaks the quiet.

"How's Wesley?" he asks.

I stare at him, startled. Of all the questions he could ask, I hadn't expected that one after the contretemps on the Bridge. I shrug and try to smile easily.

"In school, I hope!"

The Captain fidgets with his top, and I eye him curiously. He glances at me, and then- "Doctor-"

"Yes, Captain?" I say demurely.

He glares at me, and seems to realise that we're still moving. "Computer, halt!" he barks. The lift stops instantly and I know my eyebrows are climbing towards my hair.

"Sir?" I prompt.

He runs his hand over his smooth head. "Doctor, I wanted to apologise for last week," he says at last. "I shouldn't have shouted at you- or your son- and I shouldn't have ordered you from the Bridge in the way I did. Especially since, as you pointed out, your son was perfectly correct in identifying the perimeter alert."

"Thank you, sir," I say with dignity. I'm not going to tell him it's all right, because it isn't. Regardless of our personal history, I'm still a senior officer- and it was he who invited my son onto his Bridge. His unceremonious dismissal of us has rankled ever since.

He shifts his weight once more, looking even more uncomfortable, if that's possible. Determined not to let him affect me, I use my dancer's training to balance my body as gracefully as I can.

"I'm sorry," he says again, in a rather different tone. I know he means it. He manages to smile, and I find myself staring. I'd forgotten how his smile transforms his stern features. "Your son knows a remarkable amount about starship operations," he says. "He's evidently had a good teacher."

I relax and smile at him. Praise of Wesley always makes me happy. "Thank you, Captain," I say. I allow my smile to widen. "You've just won this mother's heart."

I'm amused that the tips of his ears have reddened at my words. He pulls at his uniform top again, and it occurs to me that perhaps that gesture is to him what crossing my arms across my lab coat is to me- a means of protection.

"He's so like Jack," he murmurs softly.

I stiffen.

Jean-Luc looks horrified. I don't think he meant to say that aloud- and I certainly hadn't expected to hear it. All the same, it's the truth- and as I look at the Captain now, knowing that he is thinking of my husband and his best friend, I recognise the emotion in those hazel eyes. Guilt. Still there, after all these years. I force myself to speak.

"Yes," I say quietly, deliberately looking into his eyes. "Wesley is very like his father- in looks, and in character."

"Yes," he says. He looks at his hands.

I wonder whether I should pre-empt him and give the command for the computer to resume.

"Doctor," he says, rather abruptly.

I look up at him again, and realise that, somehow, we've moved closer together- almost, but not quite touching.

"Doctor, I'd like us to be friends," he says. His voice is formal, but there's something else in his eyes. I wonder what it is. Hope? Desperation? Loneliness? All of those are only too familiar to me.

I meet his gaze, and hold it, before I reply. "I'd like that too," I say softly. "And my friends call me 'Beverly'," I add, remembering that those were the first words I said to him a lifetime ago. I look down to hide the film of tears I know is forming over my eyes.

For the first time since I came aboard the Enterprise, he does not seem wary of facing me squarely. "And mine call me 'Jean-Luc'," he says, with a ghost of his old rare grin. Tentatively, he holds out his hand.

Equally tentatively, I reach out to take it. We do not shake. The clasp is gentle, but firm and warm. Something tightly knotted inside me begins to unravel, and I know from the look in the eyes facing mine that he feels the same.

Slowly, reluctantly, we let each other go. He turns and orders the 'lift to resume its journey to the Bridge. I add that I want to stop at Deck Eight.

Almost too quickly, the lift draws to a stop. I put a hand on the sensor button for opening the doors.

"Until later, Jean-Luc," I say, surprising myself with the ease with which I still pronounce it, even after all these years. Jack was never able to get his tongue around the French 'J', let alone the 'ea' sound.

He smiles at me. "Until later, Beverly." I love the way he says my name, with that slight roll of the 'r'. I always did.

I return his smile and step out. I turn and we hold the smile for the split second it takes for the 'lift doors to close.

I feel as if I'm walking on air as I return to my quarters. Coming aboard the Enterprise was the right thing to do, I tell myself. I'm still smiling.

Anything is possible.


End file.
